


Tigers, Clams and Half A Heart

by soraflye (flitterfly5)



Category: Arashi (Band)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Childhood Sweethearts, M/M, Orphans, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-04
Updated: 2015-09-04
Packaged: 2018-04-18 22:21:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4722503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flitterfly5/pseuds/soraflye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nobody thought Satoshi was capable of understanding things, especially deep things like love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I am in no way associated with J&A or any of its talents.   
> Previously posted on LJ.

They always sent him the pretty ones. Like this Erika-sensei who was sitting across from him and smelled of lilies and rosewater and soft vanilla bread. He wrinkled his delicate nose appreciatively. Pretty and gentle and soft. They knew it made him more likely to talk. Even though he never seemed to be saying what they wanted to hear.  
  
"Do you know what Love is, Satoshi?" she asked, leaning forward with a kind smile.  
  
No, he answered, truthfully enough. I just draw pictures. On my notebook, and I know it's mine because it's blue. All the blue notebooks are mine. Though sometimes, Masaki lets me draw in his, and those are green. Because green is Masaki and blue is Satoshi. I like the green ones and the blue ones both. I suppose I like the other colors, too. Red looks nice, and purple; I've always thought so, but red and purple aren't Masaki.  
  
"And why does it have to be Masaki?"  
  
He looked up at the patiently professional face of Erika-sensei. He knew he wasn't saying the right things.  
  
I just draw pictures. He mumbled again.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
The first time his wee-wee started weeping in the night, Masaki had been the one to show him how to make it stop, slipping into his little bunk bed like a wordless ghost, and hugging him tight, like he was a clam and Masaki was his shell.  
  
"Shhh... Satoshi. It's okay, it's okay..." Masaki's voice had been oddly scratchy as those long fingers worked their business between his legs. "Mine does it, too. It happens to everyone as we grow taller and bigger... It's normal."  
  
Normal, huh. Vaguely, he had picked up that normal was one of those 'good' words. Like in 'normal development' or 'normal behavior' or 'normal result.' Everyone liked the word normal. But no one had ever used it on him. Until then.  
  
A violent shudder made him buck his body against Masaki's warmth, a strange thrill coursing in between his legs as something erupted and squirted all over Masaki's hand in a furious frenzy.  
  
I'm sorry, he gasped when he felt Masaki's body stiffen all of a sudden. I didn't mean to make a mess. I couldn't help it. It just came out on its own. I couldn't help it. He frantically tried to wipe the other boy's soiled hand with his sheets, deathly afraid, oh so afraid of what those big lips would say next.  
  
Don't be mad at me, Masaki, he began to sob. I'll clean up my mess. I won't do it again. I'll be a normal boy, I promise... Don't stop talking to me.  
  
Masaki didn't move, only let out a shaky breath; he could see it, a puff of white mist against the dim city lights that crept in from the window. It was Christmas Eve, and he shivered. He had forgotten how cold it was.  
  
Masaki. He tugged hesitantly at the still-wet hand, not knowing what else he could say to get to the right answer. Masaki. Masaki. He hoped he wasn't being annoying.  
  
Gently, Masaki shifted and silenced him by pressing his head against a rapid but steady heartbeat.  
  
"You don't have to be normal," Masaki said with a soft tremor. "I like my Satoshi just as he is now."  
  
They were back to being a clam and a shell for the rest of the night. Though he could feel something hard like a rock in Masaki's pants. It was digging into his thigh, and it was uncomfortable, but he didn't say anything, and neither did Masaki.  
  
The next day, he drew a clam in his little blue book. Real clams didn't have faces, he knew, but he gave this one two laughing green eyes and a full, upcurled set of lips.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
He would always remember the day Masaki left him. Oh, everyone had told him that it was going to be all right, even Masaki had hugged him and said that the feelings between them wouldn't change. But Satoshi knew what a lie sounded like.  
  
He just didn't think he'd ever hear it from Masaki's lips.  
  
He should have expected it, really. They were both growing bigger, though Masaki grew faster than him. And Masaki had begun to change long before the fateful day when Mizukawa-sensei had ordered that their things be packed into separate boxes. Masaki was getting stronger, and laughing more and more with the boys from other classes as they bounced balls back and forth on the concrete ground, trying to jump and throw it through a ragged basket hanging from the dorm walls. At fifteen, Masaki's name was almost always on the giggling lips of girls as they walked the halls, their hips sashaying under their skirts and their arms linked one to the other as if they were grapes on a vine. Masaki was doing better in class, too. He had sneaked a glance at their test papers when they were handed back, and seen the blush of pleasure on Masaki's face. Masaki never told him about the scores though. The tests were always hastily stuffed into a folder with the big red number hidden. It was almost as if Masaki was afraid to show him.  
  
He didn't mind it. He knew it probably had something to do with his own abysmal numbers. People usually looked uncomfortable talking about tests with him anyways. It was something he couldn't help, and Erika-sensei had said it was okay for him to get zeros when everyone else got sixties or higher. So he really didn't mind.  
  
Besides, Masaki still smiled the same, and bounced around the same, and called him "my Satoshi" in that voice of rich velvet the same. So who cared if Masaki was now smart and strong and he was still stupid and weak?  
  
But still, he should have seen it coming.  
  
Mizukawa-sensei had been calling Masaki to her office a lot, and every time, Masaki would come out with a troubled look, the kind that made the girls go crazy but only made him worry.  
  
What's wrong, Masaki? he would ask as they returned to the cold halls of their orphanage. You looked sad today. I drew a tiger that looked sad, too. Would you like to see?  
  
Masaki would always say yes, and he would flip through the pages of his little blue or green booklet until he got to the right tiger (he drew so many!).  
  
See? he would hand the booklet over, and watch nervously as Masaki's chocolate eyes took in the curves and colors he had drawn. Tigers were an animal Masaki liked; he knew that even though he was sure neither of them had ever seen one in real life.  
  
"It's adorable, Satoshi." Masaki would say, and the bright smile would come back. "You're getting better every day."  
  
He never dared to touch other people uninvited, but he loved touching Masaki, hugging, pinching, pressing and stroking.  
  
"My Satoshi is so talented." Masaki would murmur. "I love my Satoshi. Remember that."  
  
He still didn't know what 'love' meant, but he did as he was told and  remembered that it was what Masaki felt for him.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Aiba never asked to be adopted and transferred to a better class in a better school, but Mizukawa-sensei had insisted, and then scolded him for not treasuring a golden opportunity that she had fought hard for.  
  
"Do you know how many kids here would die for such a position?" she had snapped.  
  
"They can have it," he had mumbled, embarrassed but firm. "You can choose anyone to go in my place."  
  
"And I wish I could!" Her eyes had flashed angrily. "But the Sakurai's want _you_. They were very specific about it. So you will stop resisting, and go back to your room this very instant and pack your things."  
  
"What about Ohno-kun? Will I ever see him again?"  
  
Mizukawa-sensei had sighed, like she knew this name would come up sooner or later.  
  
"He'll probably be here for a while still. If you do well, maybe Sakurai-san will let you visit every now and then."  
  
Aiba bit his lip. Those words were not very promising at all. He twisted uncomfortably, not knowing how he could possibly make the situation better.  
  
"He likes to draw, sensei," he finally said. "He always runs out of booklets before we're given new ones, and none of the other boys would let him borrow pages."  
  
Mizukawa-sensei nodded understandingly. "I'll make sure he gets what he needs."  
  
Aiba stood up, sensing the gentle dismissal in her voice.  
  
"He, um, he likes blue. Not to be picky or anything," he quickly added. "But he always draws with more heart when it's in a blue booklet."  
  
Mizukawa-sensei opened the door for him. "You're a kind boy, Aiba-kun. I just hope Ohno-kun will one day be able to understand that."  
  
"He  _does_  understand that." Aiba walked out with a bitter taste in his mouth. He had to respect his sensei, but there were some things about Satoshi that sensei never understood, that no one understood. Except for him.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
The Sakurai's lived in the center of Tokyo, where all the glittering city lights were gathered. Aiba wondered if these were the same lights he and Satoshi used to gaze at from their little dorm window far far away on the outskirts of town. He wondered if Satoshi was looking at them right now.  
  
Sakurai-san was a stern patriarch, and his wife a dignified woman of fashion. They were both kind enough to Aiba, but for the most part they left him with their son, Sho, who was of a similar age. Sho was smart, and very perceptive. He could see at once that Aiba had not come to their household of his own volition, even though his parents offered a finer life than anything at the orphanage, and he could see, in the following days, that Aiba was lonely, like a person perpetually wandering around an unknown blankness with only half his heart in his chest.  
  
"Do you miss Chiba?" he asked him one day, when the leaves in their courtyard had just finished falling and the wintry season was edging closer and closer to their walls. "You always gaze in that direction, even though the lights are prettier on the other side."  
  
"Sho-san!" Aiba started, and stepped back from the window, flushing. "I didn't mean to- I mean, of course I like it very much here in Tokyo, and your family is so kind to take me in-"  
  
"But deep down inside, you wish with all your heart that you could be somewhere else, don't you?"  
  
Aiba could only stand there in wordless shame as the young master of the house brought a hand up to cup his chin.  
  
"Tell me what I need to do to get you to smile for me, Aiba." The way Sho whispered against his skin was eager, husky, almost predatory, and it made Aiba shiver in a way that he had never shivered before.  
  
Noting that, the young master closed the distance between them and planted a soft, but not entirely chaste kiss on Aiba's cold lips.  
  
"Am I not more worthy of your attention than this drab view of your past?" he murmured as their lips parted ways.  
  
Aiba's voice dried up; his heart was flapping wildly against his ribs like a moth against a pane of glass. It felt wrong to refuse Sho-san, but it felt just as wrong to agree.  
  
"Come, let's have dinner in town tonight."  
  
The older boy held out a hand, an invitation sparkling in his eyes. Helplessly, Aiba took it.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
They had called him to that room again. This time, it was Kyoko-sensei. She was pretty, just like Erika-sensei had been. They always sent in the pretty ones.  
  
"It's been a while, hasn't it?" she smiled, a clean, gentle smile. "Eight? Nine? Oh, eight years since Masaki-kun left."  
  
Mmm, he nodded, clasping his hands dutifully in his lap. Eight years. That's right. Four plus four. Masaki left in the summer. I remember because my window was open as I watched the car drive off. Two suitcases there were. Small ones. One plus one. Masaki put them in the back of the car. I watched, but Masaki didn't look back. No, no looking back.  
  
His voice stopped on that forlorn note. Kyoko-sensei leaned forward.  
  
"Why didn't he look back, Satoshi? Did you think he would?"  
  
Masaki could have looked back in the car, he argued, a little upset. There were back windows in the car. I drew a picture of it in my book. The green one. I drew the car and the wheels and the back window. Not Masaki, though, because I couldn't see Masaki anymore.  
  
"How does that make you feel, Satoshi? Thinking about that day?"  
  
The same, he answered, his fingers twitching. I feel the same as I feel every day.  
  
It was probably not the right answer, but saying that usually ended the talk sooner. And he would probably never get the right answer, anyways.  
  
"Do you know what Love is, Satoshi?"  
  
He blinked, a little surprised. No one had asked that in a long time. Kyoko-sensei was looking at him intently, her pen ready to fly across the paper on her clipboard.  
  
No, he said truthfully. But Masaki knows. You should ask him. Masaki knows.  
  
Kyoko-sensei's pen rustled against the paper.  
  
"Thank you, Satoshi," she said kindly. "I think that'll be all for today."  
  
He stood up, but stopped with one hand on the door.  
  
Sensei? he asked timidly. When you see Masaki to ask him, can you also tell him about the car I drew?  
  
Kyoko-sensei looked puzzled for a moment, but quickly recovered into a patient smile.  
  
"Of course," she said brightly.  
  
And-and if Masaki doesn't cars, can you tell him that I still draw tigers? Lots and lots of tigers, even the ones that are white and not orange.  
  
The psychiatrist nodded understandingly. "I'll tell him that if I see him," she assured him.  
  
Thank you, sensei. He walked back to his room, feeling somewhat happier than usual.  
  
That evening, he drew a tiger. A big fuzzy one rolling on the green grass with soft paws and a white belly facing the blue sky. When he was done, he taped it on one of his bedposts and stared at it until he fell asleep.  
  
All night, he dreamt of never-ending blue skies over never-ending green grass with a smile on his face.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


	2. Chapter 2

Sakurai Sho was a very persuasive teenager, and after eight years of living as a vague combination of both his brother and his lover, Aiba found that the young master had grown into an even more persuasive man. It was Sho-san who had first kissed him that evening as he stood dolefully by the window, and it was Sho-san who had initiated all the other kisses (and more) that followed after that one. Sho-san was good with his hands and his mouth, and gorgeous to look at when the clothes came off. He always let Aiba touch him, slow and hesitant though it was, letting the younger man relax at the gradual contact of skin against skin before completely undressing him and doing _it_.  
  
Aiba knew that Sho-san was in love with him, and he knew that he owed a lot to Sho-san.  
  
Which was why he always bit back the chokes of pain and masked them in heated cries of pleasure for his young master, and afterwards, when Sho-san was finished and asked him whether or not he'd like to bathe together, he'd always say yes, he'd love to, and settle into Sho-san's chest with the warm water enveloping them both. Sho-san would caress him lovingly as if he was a delicate doll, and Aiba would smile and tell him that it felt good.  
  
Aiba knew that a hurt look would spring into Sho-san's eyes whenever he gazed out at the straggly lights of Chiba, so he stopped gazing in the direction of Chiba. He also knew that Sho-san's heart would chip a little every time he saw him staring into space thinking of Satoshi, so he tried to think of Satoshi only when he was truly alone.  _His_ Satoshi. He often wondered how the little man was doing.  
  
Many times, he'd take up a pen and sit down to write a letter, but guilt would always overcome him before a single word could be written. Sho-san never got angry with him, but Aiba had a feeling that if he found out about the intended recipient of all these unformed letters, he might.  
  
"Hey, Masaki!" Aiba turned to find his adoptive father entering the living room in which he was sitting.  
  
"Sakurai-san," he greeted with a slight bow. "You wanted to talk to me?"  
  
"Yes.'" The distinguished old man placed a firm hand on his slim shoulder, smiling. "I may not be home very often to teach you things and spend fatherly time with you, but you've always been a good son to me, Masaki."  
  
Masaki lowered his head, embarrassed. "You're too kind to me," he murmured.  
  
"Now, as I said, I'm not home very much," Sakurai-san continued, his hand still on Aiba's shoulder."But fathers often have a special sensitivity where their sons are concerned, and I've sensed something between my two sons." He tilted Aiba's head to look up into his face.  
  
"You're sleeping with Sho."  
  
It wasn't a question, but Aiba's flushed cheeks provided a confirmatory answer anyways.  
  
"I-I'm sorry," he stammered. "I know it's wrong, and I shouldn't be-"  
  
He stopped when he felt Sakurai-san's finger on his lips, silencing him.  
  
"Sho loves you," the old man said, sighing. "I could see it in his face ever since he was sixteen. He's always been crazy about you, even long after the teenage hormones had run their course."  
  
Aiba looked away in shame, but Sakurai-san chose this moment to pull him into a crushing fatherly embrace.  
  
"He's my heir, Masaki, and you're the most promising young talent working in my company." He squeezed Aiba's thin body tight, eliciting a gasp. "I can think of no better way to for this to turn out."  
  
Aiba was released, shocked at the unexpected acceptance of his adoptive father.  
  
"Bu-but we're _brothers_!"  
  
Sakurai-san smiled knowingly. "I brought you here when you were fifteen and so handsome that half the maids were fighting to be the one to tend your personal needs. I should have known that you would have the same effect on Sho, but back then I didn't know he was interested in men. You are brothers in name, Masaki, but you can rest assured that Sho never looked upon you as a brother for even a minute. You were always something more."  
  
Aiba stared, tongue-tied, a cold shoot of fear suddenly piercing through him as he realized where this conversation would inevitably end up.  
  
"Sa-Sakurai-san..."  
  
But the old man cut him off with a fond pat on the shoulder.  
  
"I'd like it if you two marry before I have to leave for our Hong Kong office this winter," he chuckled, his eyes crinkling with amusement. "So don't you think it's time you start calling me 'Father?'"  
  
Still chuckling, the distinguished old man nodded merrily and took his leave, leaving a paralyzed Aiba in his wake.  
  
It wasn't long after that when Sho-san took him out to dinner and asked him the question that Aiba knew he would ask. Aiba looked into his eyes. They looked just like his father's.  
  
"Masaki?" The young master pressed his hand a little nervously. Aiba broke out of the whirlpool of thoughts milling around his brain.  
  
"Sure," he nodded, now staring at the way Sho-san's hand was covering his own with just a hint of possession. "Sure."  
  
He smiled. Sho-san was always happier when he smiled.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
"Are there any friends from your side that you'd like to invite, Masaki? Old chums from Chiba, perhaps? I want to make this a  _grand_  wedding for our two precious sons." Sakurai-san's laughter boomed across the dinner table like a deep-barreled drum.  
  
Aiba could feel Sho-san's hand stiffen from where it lay on his thigh. His own heart had begun to beat rapidly, and he hoped that Sho-san wouldn't notice his inner turmoil.  
  
"No, Father." Dutifully, he turned his attention back to the jolly Sakurai-san. "Most of the people I knew in Chiba are probably spread all over country in unknown households by now. We never kept in touch with each other." Aiba took a sip of his water and swallowed deeply, letting Sho-san's fingers make their way down to clench his knee protectively. "Besides, all my friends here are also Sho-san's friends, so there is no distinction between his side and my side, really."  
  
Sakurai-san clapped his large hands in amusement and reached for more wine. "You're already talking like a married couple! Hah! Come, come! Raise your glasses with your old man! To your love and future, boys!"  
  
Their glasses made a merry clink over the sumptuous dishes laid out on the table, but Aiba felt cold and uneasy. He was sure that Sho-san had felt his body's instinctive flinch at the word "love," and he could see from his fiance's eyes that Sho-san was raising the glass to his lips but not actually drinking to the toast.  
  
Damn it, he shivered. Sho-san was just always so damn perceptive.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
He was drawing pictures alone when Sakurai Sho came to visit Chiba. No one had told him he would be having a visitor, and no one usually interrupted him when he was in his silent-drawing time, so he was quite surprised when the door opened and a man came in.  
  
"My name is Sakurai," the stranger said, smiling in a rather odd way. "I heard you're a friend of Masaki's."  
  
His colored pencil froze on the paper after a sudden jerk that gave his streamlined car a little bent antenna  at the rear. The Sakurai person came closer, and placed an ivory-white envelope on his open pencil case. It had his name on it in swirling font, and it looked  _fancy_.  
  
"I'm here to invite you to our wedding."  
  
Wedding? he repeated, the word feeling uncomfortable and alarming in his mouth. Masaki's wedding?  
  
Sakurai put a hand on the back of his chair in a friendly way.  
  
"Yes, Satoshi-kun. My wedding with Masaki. I really hope you can come. Masaki misses you, and this wedding will be one of the most important days of his life. He'd be very happy if he could see you there."  
  
I don't know what wedding means, he answered sullenly, the pencil in his hand beginning to move again. Never been to one. Never seen what it looks like. I just draw pictures in my blue books.  
  
He stopped talking abruptly. Normally, he would have at least gone on about one or two of his drawings and happily listed the ones he thought Masaki would like the best, but for some reason, he felt a sour taste on his tongue whenever this Sakurai man spoke Masaki's name, and he did not feel like speaking that name any more than he needed to.  
  
With easy grace, Sakurai slid into a seat beside him, still smiling in a friendly, handsome way.  
  
"Weddings are a like a big party, Satoshi-kun. A big, fun, party for people who are in love."  
  
I don't know what love is, he said flatly. Maybe weddings are not for me.  
  
He sneaked a sidelong look at Sakurai, wondering if Masaki also felt love for this tall, handsome-looking man, and if that meant that Masaki also called this man "my Sakurai" just as he had called him "my Satoshi."  
  
Something in Sakurai's smile changed very subtly, but he sensed it. He was good at sensing faces. Sakurai put a hand on his arm to stop him from his coloring, and turned their chairs so that they faced each other. He didn't like that very much, but Sakurai was strong, and he couldn't fight those arms.  
  
"I can teach you about love, if that'll make you feel better about going to my wedding, Satoshi-kun. Love is a wonderful thing, you know. It-"  
  
No, it's not, he interrupted with a sulky voice. I'm too stupid to be normal and too stupid to know what love is, but I know it's not wonderful. Wonderful means tigers bouncing around a grassland and clams hugging their treasures close. That's not what love is.  
  
He stopped himself again. He knew he was dangerously close to blurting out Masaki's name again, and he didn't want to. At least, not in front of Sakurai, who he was beginning to resent quite a lot.  
  
"But that's exactly what love _is_  like, Satoshi-kun." The handsome man squeezed his arm gently. "I know that because I'm in love with Masaki, and every day, I feel like I'm a tiger bouncing with him on a never-ending grassland; and every night, I hug him close like a clam around its treasure, tighter and tighter so that he'll always feel safe... That's love, Satoshi-kun, and it's wonderful, see? You're not stupid. You understand it perfectly."  
  
He was trembling now. He wanted to cry, but he knew he would get in trouble and end up spending hours and hours talking pointlessly with another pretty sensei if he did, so he tried hard to hold in the tears, turning back to where his drawing was waiting unfinished on the desk.  
  
I hope you and Masaki have a nice wedding, he said dully, picking up his colored pencil. I'm sure you're both good at loving people.  
  
"Hahaha!" Sakurai laughed, and patted his back heartily. "Oh Satoshi-kun... Love isn't a skill. It's something that we're all good at, as long as we do it with the right person."  
  
The right person? he repeated, confused now. Is there only one of them?  
  
Sakurai nodded solemnly. "Yes, only one. And when you find that one, that's when you have the wedding. Weddings are supposed to be only once-in-a-lifetime, Satoshi-kun."  
  
Once-in-a-lifetime huh... He turned his head to look out his tiny window, away from Sakurai, away from the source of troubling thoughts.  
  
I don't think I'll ever have a wedding, he mumbled sadly, scratching at a loose splinter on his desk. There's no one out there for a person like me. I just draw pictures in my little blue books. They're blue because Satoshi is blue. Although sometimes I'll use the green ones, too... for tigers and clams and pieces of cracked hearts. Because green is... green is someone else. He faltered for a second or so and squinted at the view. Green was swallowed up by the city lights far far away, he said at last, a single tear trickling down his cheek.  
  
Sakurai stood up, and he understood with relief that the visit was at an end.  
  
"Don't lose the invitation, Satoshi-kun." The man's voice was soft. "I'll send a car for you, in case you change your mind about coming."  
  
Sakurai paused, and then added, "It would brighten Masaki's face to see you."  
  
Masaki's face is always bright, he replied coldly.  
  
"Ah yes, of course." Sakurai gave a glib bow of his head, and left.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
He shut himself up in his room and cried for ten straight days and nights after Sakurai Sho's visit. He knew he would be in big trouble when he finally ventured out, but he allowed the matrons to bring his meals to his room, and he always finished them. That would lessen the severity of the talking sessions, he knew.  
  
But it wouldn't save him from all those questions the pretty Kyoko-sensei would ask about his crying. They were always so interested in his crying. Why did he cry? Was he sad or angry? Did he hate anyone? Was he afraid of anyone?  
  
At this point, he was past caring about all those silly questions he could never answer right. He swept all his neatly stacked notebooks off their place on his shelf and flung them across his room, letting the colorful pictures crumple as they landed everywhere. He thought he would rip them all up, but as he held the smiling, bouncing tigers in his hands, he couldn't bear to do it.  
  
It's all I have left of Green, he mumbled to himself through the tears. And Green is Masaki. Masaki who will have a wedding with Sakurai, not Satoshi. Because Masaki loves Sakurai, not Satoshi.  
  
There is only one love, and it's Sakurai, not Satoshi.  
  
He squatted in a dark corner between his bed and the wall so that the window showed only blue sky and rocked back and forth on the flats of his feet, clutching his head, and pounding his ears as though that could make him unhear what Sakurai had said.  
  
I'm so stupid, he whispered to all the tigers and clams and broken hearts littered around him. I should have had a wedding. I should have had it with Masaki before he left. But I didn't because I was too stupid to know what love was. And now I'm too stupid for Masaki to have a wedding with. Masaki has Sakurai now.  
  
Masaki is strong and Sakurai is strong. Masaki is smart and Sakurai is smart. Squares go with squares and circles go with circles. I'm not strong or smart. I was born all wrong for Masaki.  
  
He thumbed metal zipper of his pants and recalled that first night when he had been a clam and Masaki his shell. Masaki had known how to fix him. Masaki had said he was normal. Masaki had said he was fine just the way he was. Which was stupid and weak. But Masaki had said that was fine anyways.  
  
Masaki had told him to remember he loved him.  _I love my Satoshi._ He was Masaki's Satoshi. And even if Masaki had Sakurai now, he would still be Masaki's Satoshi.  
  
There is only one love, after all. He sighed wistfully. And mine will never come back to me.  
  
He really wished he had thought to ask what happened to the people who found the one love but missed the chance to have a wedding.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Aiba was all alone in front of his mirror, and in two hours he would be walking the garlanded aisle to join his hand with Sho-san, the man who had loved him and looked after him for the past eight years. His suit was the color of soft cream, and fit nicely on all the slim angles of his body. His hair was light brown and covered his eyes just a little; he had allowed the stylist to dye it so that he could feel less like himself when he went through with this.  
  
He unfolded a small piece of paper from his pocket and skimmed it lightly with weary eyes. It was his wedding vow. The syrupy paragraph that lovers read to each other in front of all their friends and family. Wedding vows.  
  
Aiba rubbed his eyes, and looked into the mirror, rehearsing again the pre-written words of love and devotion. This time, he pretended that it was Satoshi he was saying these words to.  
  
"Dearest, most beloved Satoshi," he began. "I still remember the first time we-"  
  
He didn't get very far before his already fragile voice dried up and withered completely in his throat. His imagination was playing tricks on him again, making him see things that he told himself he wouldn't ever see again. He blinked hard and shook his hair out of his eyes furiously.  
  
But the apparition was still there in his mirror, ghostly pale with wide, frightened eyes and a diminutive body that Aiba knew was neglected for exercise because of long hours spent drawing.  
  
Shocked, the groom-to-be swiveled around in his seat.  
  
"Satoshi!"  
  
The little man hadn't changed much in the eight years since he last saw him, but he could see that his Satoshi had been crying before entering the dressing room. It was a sight that broke his wounded heart.  
  
Without so much as a second thought, he stood up and dashed over to pull his poor innocent darling back into the arms that he belonged in, burying the lost-looking face in the frills of his wedding jacket and stroking the soft hair that he used to love running his fingers through.  
  
"I'm so sorry..." he murmured against the soap-scented hair. Not even that smell had changed. "I'm so sorry..."  
  
Masaki, Masaki, a little voice whimpered against his chest. I can't breathe... but I don't want you to let go.  
  
Aiba felt his body heave with a little chuckle as he loosened his arms slightly. "You're still as cute as ever, Satoshi." He looked the small man up and down, his heart pumping in a joyous rhythm that it hadn't felt in eight years. "What brings you here?"  
  
The car brought me here, answered the little voice. It was just like the one that took you away. I drew a picture of it. Did sensei tell Masaki? I drew the back windows on the car so that Masaki could look through them and see me waving.  
  
"A car, huh?" Aiba smiled fondly down at the man he had loved for as long as he could remember. "And who sent the car?"  
  
Sakurai did, Masaki. Sakurai who said he's in love with you and was going to have a wedding with you. He gave me this in a white envelope and told me that a person could only have one wedding in a lifetime. I didn't like him very much when he said that. It made me sad.  
  
The tiny voice weakened as fresh tears flowed down the chubby cheeks.  
  
Aiba pulled it all back into a protective embrace and kissed the smaller man's forehead this time, a troubled look crossing his face.  
  
"I'm sorry you had to be sad because of that, Satoshi."  
  
I just wanted to see Masaki again, sobbed the tiny voice. I waited and waited for Masaki to come back, but you never did. And I know it's my fault, for not having a wedding with you when you said you loved me. But now it's too late and Masaki is having his wedding with Sakurai, and I just wanted to see Masaki again... just to see you and ask you what I should do?  
  
Satoshi sniffled and wiped a streak of tears away with the back of his delicate hand.  
  
I'm just a stupid person, he said, biting his lip and peering up at Aiba like a timid little puppy. But I know what love is now. I just don't know what to do. Will Masaki tell me what people do when they know they love somebody but can't ever have a wedding with them? Sakurai said there's only one love for every man, but the man Satoshi loves is already having a wedding with Sakurai...  
  
Aiba felt as though his heart had melted into a puddle around his feet when he finally heard the agitated confession that he had been waiting for ever since the day he saw Ohno Satoshi step into the orphanage all clueless, fearful and with a face so innocently angelic that it just  _begged_  for his protection and care.  
  
It all seemed so simple to him now, with his Satoshi warm in his arms, confused, sobbing, afraid, but loving him and trusting him all the same. His place was, and always had been, by this little man's side. He needed him, this weeping mess, this simple-minded man who still drew cars and tigers and goodness knows what other whimsical things just to please him. Because he was  _his_  Masaki, and even with another man's ring on his finger, he'd still be, forever, Satoshi's Masaki.  
  
Aiba took a deep breath. He hoped that Sho-san would understand, and that he could still fulfill his duties as a son to Sakurai-san in other ways.  
  
"The man you love is not going to have a wedding with Sakurai, darling."  
  
Satoshi blinked and looked up, puzzled.  
  
And recklessly, Aiba grabbed his hand, pulled him out the door of the dressing room, and began running hand-in-hand with him down the corridor, leaping over stairs and crossing through the foyer until they finally felt the green grass under their feet and the blue skies kissing the treetops above their heads.  
  
"I'm only going to have one wedding," Aiba panted as he hauled his little angel to a stop near a sparkling public fountain. "And it's going to be with you, Satoshi. Will you do that with me?"  
  
Satoshi beamed and hugged him.  
  
Yes, Masaki, he said happily. But first I want to draw that fountain.  
  
Aiba just kissed him.  
  
  



	3. Chapter 3

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
 **Epilogue**  
  
Sakurai-san and his son Sho stood at the head of an empty wedding hall.  
  
"Do you think he'll be back, Sho?"  
  
The son pulled his rose out of his breast pocket with a light tug and sniffed it delicately.  
  
"Yes, he'll be back," he said. "He's nothing if not dutiful, and he still has many duties here, as your son and as my brother." He tossed away the rose, letting its petals land with a thump on the rich carpet, and gave a wry laugh. "He almost married me out of duty, after all."  
  
"You don't think he loved you at all?" His father frowned, confused.  
  
"As a brother, perhaps," replied Sho. "But his real heart was always reserved for another, I'm afraid."  
  
He sat down on one of the seats in the front row and smiled regretfully at the older Sakurai.  
  
"I think you should be prepared to welcome a new son-in-law to the family, Father."  
  
His eyes twinkled at his father's gaping expression.  
  
"I think you'll like him," he added playfully. "He's just like the artist you always wished _I_ could be."  
  
~~~~~~~~~~


End file.
